#i want to write . a snippet. it lingers in my mind

[prettyboykatsuki]

cant stop thinking about zayne falling in love with a reader whose a dancer in a strip club. like specifically somewhere that is not home for him. its haunting me

[fangdokja]

Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

In a world where love twists into obsession, Whispers in the Dark offers you fleeting glimpses into the shadows—short, striking stories that capture the subtle, chilling edge of devotion gone astray. These headcanons, drabbles, and snippets bring together yanderes from A Heart Devoured, Forbidden Fruits, and World Ablaze, alongside new faces destined to carve their own place in the recesses of your mind.

This collection is deceptively light, each story crafted for easy reading yet laced with the faint echoes of something far darker. Beneath tender touches lie the barest hints of possessiveness. Behind sweet words linger quiet threats. And in the softest moments, you'll glimpse a world where love binds tighter than chains.

Perfect for casual reading, these stories keep most of the darkness just out of reach, lurking in the shadows of every tender moment. They are whispers of what lies in the deeper, more dangerous corners of Fang Dokja’s other works.

For now, this is where you stay—balanced on the edge of a blade. Will you fall deeper?

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Trigger Warnings (Dead Dove): Contains dark themes, non-consensual content (not as explicit as my long form stories), and depictions of taboo scenarios. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Read the RULES so you are aware of what you're getting into.

♡ A/N #1. I have extremely high tolerance to anything controversial and taboo (e.g. explicit incest, gang rape, gore, vore, murder, bestiality, etc.). Nothing bothers me in reading and writing (except genuine stupidity spanning all forms). If you are looking for light submissive puppy or worshipping yanderes, who would never hurt you. This writing isn't for you, because all my stories have a base line of non-con (whether SFW or NSFW) and sadistic hard doms. The most common and comfortable writing style I have are "red and black flags that will hurt you, and can and may kill you." Yes, even if they are yandere. ♡ A/N #2. I do write different degrees, sometimes vanilla (e.g. most of my Genshin Impact and HSR works), other times erotic horror (e.g. R18 AHD). But, generally, expect non-con in some form. To put it into perspective on my tolerance level, I consider the usual rape, "vanilla rape". If there is no genuine danger of dying or bleeding to death (e.g. cannibalism, vore, necrophilia, edge play like extreme blood play and weapon play), then I classify it as "vanilla rape." Especially if it's just forced penetration or oral.

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Note: Want to make a SHORT request for original yanderes (OC's) or fandom yanderes? Read the Rules and Regulations, first, before requesting. Failure to abide by the rules will have your request ignored and deleted.

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Table of Contents

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ ⭐. Author's Personal Favorites. ♡ 🔞. NSFW / extremely explicit themes (non-con, sexual torture, dangerous edge play, degradation, humiliation, BDSM, etc.)

♡ Schedule. The following stories are released or scheduled for release:

Fandom Yanderes

♡ Book 1. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF) : Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 2. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

Mixed Character Stories

You tried to break up with him… but did you ever really want to? (Chrollo Lucilfer, Johan Liebert, Geto Suguru)

Genshin Impact

Mixed Stories

Humor First, Consequences Later (Tartaglia, Wanderer, Kazuha)

Original Yanderes (OC's)

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

Yandere! Author

Headcanons 1 : Fate’s Final Draft (General)

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

🔞"You like happy endings? Too bad. I don’t write those."

Yandere! Best Friend

Headcanons 1 : Unspoken Desires (General)

🔞“He says he’d do anything for you. But would you believe him?”

Yandere! IRL Authors

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Tumblr Smut Lord, AO3 Angst Demon, Webtoon Cult Leader, Wattpad Menace

Drabbles

You see ‘yandere x reader’ and click before you even register the title.

Yandere! Isekai! Knight

♡ Sub Story. In his eyes, your defiance isn’t strength—it’s foreplay.

Headcanons 1 : Light’s Last Lament (General)

He was a knight of light… until you turned his world dark.

Yandere! Nerd

♡ Sub Story. No one else noticed the quiet boy in the corner, but he’s all you’ll notice now.

Headcanons 1 : Beyond the Data (General)

🔞You’re his project, and he’s determined to get you right.

Yandere! Neurosurgeon

Drabbles

You’re a Pervert, and He’s in Denial.

Your Idea of Flirting? A Box of Body Parts.

“I’d love to get inside your head.” He thought you meant emotionally.

Yandere! Otome Game

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Crown Prince, Archduke, Supreme Mage, Demon King, War Hero, Master Thief, Enemy Spy, Demon Assassin

Drabbles

How do you escape a yandere harem? Asking for a very distressed friend (me).

How to Turn ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ Into a Very Literal Situation.

"Romance is a garbage genre, but if I have to play, I might as well do it on easy mode."

The love interests were bad. The backup plans are worse.

One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

Yandere! Royal Guards

Drabbles

Royal Duties: looking pretty, sitting still, watching your guards destroy the kingdom.

You got isekai’d. Now three murder machines think your blank stares are divine wisdom.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

Yandere! Stardom

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Fanboy, Producer, Rival, Hater

Drabbles

A love letter: from a guy who’s watched every movie, probably knows your underwear size.

Rivals, fanboys, and haters all agree: your fanfic is a masterpiece… in the worst way.

Your most devoted fan writes smut better than published authors.

Capitalism By Day, Cock Worship By Night

AO3 Writer: “I just wanted to write smut.” | Society: “No, you leaked classified info.”

Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor

♡ Sub Story. In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

Headcanons 1 : Flesh and Fetish (General)

In a world where only the strongest survive, he’s the monster you can't escape.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on this post. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[remlionheart]

“You came.”

“You called.”

✧˚ · .MDNI 18+✧˚ · .

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ WHEWWWW. I had no idea when I first started writing this just how much it was going to suck me in. Sweet/toxic!Megumi had my brain doing fuckin' wheelies. All characters are aged up. 21+. Fem!reader x Megumi. AU where Megumi was raised by Toji and is navigating adulthood while still carrying around those old parental wounds. Hurt comfort / angst / smut. porn with a plot. praise kink girlies, this is for you. 3.6k words. super proud of this, lemme know whatcha think. luv you <3 ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It’d been 4 months since the last time Megumi had seen you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He’d woken up in what used to be your apartment with the taste of liquor from the night before still lingering on his tongue and unwanted snippets of your latest fight still ringing in his ears. He rolled over to see you curled up on your side, as far away from him as you could possibly get while still sharing the same bed. He ran a hand over his face, regret and nausea churning in his stomach while more flashbacks of the argument that had caused the divide between you smashed through his mind.

His footsteps were heavy as he made his way into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He turned the water up as hot as it would go before stripping out of his boxers. He wanted to sweat out the guilt he felt. Wanted to burn away the insults you’d both thrown at each other. Wanted to focus on anything else besides the way he’d made you cry.

He winced when the water made contact with his skin. It was scalding, fanning across his back with vengeance. But it was vengeance that he felt he deserved.

“Why?” His eyes closed, remembering how hard you were trying to keep yourself together despite the obvious pain that was plaguing your small body. The way your lip had quivered and the way your arms had protectively wrapped around your stomach when you looked up at him. “Why can’t you ever just tell me what’s going on with you?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.

God, he wanted to. To open up. To tell you all of the fucked-up things that went on in his head. To voice his insecurities so that maybe they’d finally stop repeating on the same never-ending loop that they had been stuck on his whole life. To tell you that he didn’t think he was enough. To tell you that he was scared to lose you. That it was something he thought about nearly every day.

But it wasn’t that easy. He was only capable of doing what he knew, and he had absolutely no fucking idea how to deal with his own vulnerability. Let alone express it in a way that wasn't damaging to both of you.

Being raised by Toji had been like taking a master class in emotional avoidance and Megumi was very much his father’s prodigy.

He knew how to argue. He knew how to deflect. He knew how to win a fight. He knew how to manipulate a conversation so that he never had to say more than he wanted to. And he didn’t just know how to do these things, he excelled at them.

It was why he had always been so reserved. It was why he’d beat up all those kids in middle school just for looking at him. It was why at 21, rather than saying “I’m sorry” to resolve an ongoing issue with his girlfriend, he’d opted for, “Then fucking leave" instead.

He stepped out of the shower with red welts decorating his back and sweat dripping down his face. He wiped the steam away from the mirror to reveal blood-shot eyes as he wrapped a towel around his waist. His midnight hair was unusually straight and flat, pressed loosely against his forehead.

He let out an exhale, trading in his introspection for detachment when he heard the bathroom door open.

You observed him quietly, noting his reddened skin and his apparent discomfort at seeing you.

Your head tilted slightly, looking over his clenched jaw and the way his shoulders never truly relaxed. It hurt to see him and it hurt even worse to not see him, but as he stared back at you through hooded eyes, you realized that you had wasted so much time searching for softness in a place you’d never find it.

Megumi Fushiguro was beautifully broken. An intricate stained-glass mural that had been shattered by undeserving hands. Mesmerizing to look at but much too rigid to touch. And though he shined perfectly in the right lighting, your mangled fingertips were begging you to finally put the pieces down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s nothing...” You shook your head, taking in his sharp edges for what you assumed would be the last time. “You just look like him… that’s all.”

His chest tightened, a rare, visible crack forming in his usual cold demeanor as he stared back at you. He’d been able to avoid everything he didn’t want to deal with in life, everything – until he met you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A pint of whiskey loomed back at him from his nightstand as he ran a hand through his spiked hair, lethargically watching the ceiling fan spin above him.

His vision was hazy, his body tired from training all day. He wanted to sleep. Wanted to close his eyes and drift off for a few hours, but he knew his mind wasn’t going to grant him that mercy.

So, he drank.

Light rain tapped against his window as he held the bottle to his lips, letting a comforting burn travel down his throat while he pulled his phone out from under his pillow.

You had become a ghost in his life after that morning. A memory that he kept buried so far down, he’d almost partially convinced himself that you were actually gone. You were a late-night whisper that he’d ignore. A song on the radio that he’d immediately turn off. A stabbing, fleeting thought he’d learned to block out on his way home from work.

He had given up going to his favorite restaurants and shops in fear that you might be there. He had cut all ties with Nobara since you guys were so close, not wanting to hear anything about you. He had isolated himself to work and his apartment, not allowing himself the chance to accidentally bump into you.

He’d taken so many precautions. Did everything he possibly could to not see you. And yet, he was gradually starting to realize that maybe it’d all been in vain. That even with how much his life had changed, he was still somehow doing the exact same thing he’d done when he was with you.

After all this time, he was still running.

With one last swig, he finished off his pint and grabbed his phone again, not allotting himself enough time to backpedal.

Dialing your number was like muscle memory even with how long it'd been since he'd done it. He wasn't sure what he was going to say if you answered. He definitely wasn't sure what he was going to say tomorrow if you didn't answer. All he knew was that he was finally done avoiding you.

“Megumi…?” your voice was warm, familiar, static against his ear.

“You’re up late.”

There was a pause followed by a reluctant, “Yeah… so are you.”

He mentally kicked himself as an unsure silence settled between the two of you. He had so many things he needed to say but quickly realized that he couldn’t say any of them now that he was here.

His feelings were heavy and important and way too repressed to be spilled out over a late-night phone call. “I know it’s raining, and whatever but…” He cleared his throat. “Are you busy…?”

“Right now?” He couldn’t help but smirk at your snarky, half-hearted laugh. “I mean, it’s 1:30 in the morning. So, no. Not really.”

“Good. Come over.”

“Wait a minute, you can’t just –”

But he already had.

He ended the call, abruptly cutting off your flimsy attempt at protesting him before sending you a text with his address and standing up to dig a black t-shirt out of his closet.

His apartment was damn near spotless aside from some empty whiskey bottles littering his nightstand, but he still made compulsive laps back and forth from his bedroom to his kitchen as he threw them away and cracked a couple of windows open to let some fresh air in. It was an odd feeling, knowing that you were going to be standing in the one place that didn’t remind him of you.

He checked his phone while heading into the bathroom. You hadn't said anything, but he knew you well enough to know that you were probably only minutes away by now.

He ran contemplative fingers through his hair, making sure each spike was pointed and curled up to his satisfaction. He hated to admit it, but your words had been haunting his reflection since the morning they left your mouth. He had become painfully aware of how much his eyes, his mannerisms, his facial structure all resembled the man he didn't want to become.

His past may have already been accounted for but as he heard the knock at his front door, he finally began to see something different in the mirror that once taunted him. He watched his stare soften and his shoulders loosen. He noted how much tension his body had let go of at just the thought of you. He was about to let his guard down in the biggest way possible and instead of having a visceral reaction, he felt ready.

With one last glance at himself, he let out a decisive breath and headed down the hall. The future was in his hands and even if he did have his father's features, he knew his grasp was much steadier.

You were in an oversized grey hoodie with your hair thrown into a loose side-bun, your shorts just barely visible and your skin damp from the rain.

Neither one of you said anything, both too busy studying the person in front of you to bother with words. Your eyes trailed over him with warranted skepticism, an internal battle between logic and emotion arising the longer you looked at him.

He could see it; he could feel it - the way you wanted to trust him but couldn't.

"You came." he finally said, his voice gentler than you remembered it being.

You shrugged, almost embarrassed by your own honesty.

"You called."

The two of you exchanged the same somber smile before he nodded for you to follow him.

The smell of his cologne mixed with spring air swirled around you as you walked into his room. His walls were covered in art - framed line work, oil paintings, black and grey portraits. Everything was strategically placed and organized. His bed made neatly with white sheets and a black duvet. It was all very him.

He leaned against the wall in front of you as you took a seat on the edge of his mattress.

“How’ve you been?”

It should've been an easy question and under different circumstances, it probably would've been.

But it was late and you were on his bed and he looked beautiful and you wished he didn't and the weight of the situation was suddenly hitting you all at once.

“I've been alright.” You lied, repositioning yourself. "Just busy with classes and stuff. What about you...?"

He watched the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shorts. The way you shifted your weight as you dangled one leg off of the bed and held the other against your chest.

“Quit.”

You paused, your gaze reluctantly returning to his. “Quit what?”

“Being nervous.” He pushed himself away from the wall and sat down next to you, heeding his own advice. “I just have some stuff I need to say, that's all."

You gave him a slow nod, letting go of the loose piece of thread.

His legs were spread slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs and his chin in his hands as he looked over at you. "You were right."

He had officially gained your attention with that one simple admission.

"I do need to open up more, it's just -" He took a breath, determination flickering through his eyes. "It's just fucking hard, you know? But that's not an excuse. I'm sorry. Truly. I'm sorry for everything I did to you while we were together. I should've said it the last time I saw you. I should've said it months before that. I should've just said it at least a hundred times. But I didn't, so I'm saying it now." His hand was warm as he carefully reached for yours. "I shouldn't have shut you out like I did. You're... the one person I never wanted to push away... I love you."

It felt as though all of the oxygen had been stripped from the room, your heart forgetting how to beat while you looked back at him in awe. Your thoughts were everywhere. The war of logic versus emotion still violently raging on.

His fingers laced into yours and you let them. His grasp felt safe and secure. His eyes were full of a sense of patience and vulnerability that you didn't think you'd ever seen before.

"Don't let him do this to you again." Nobara had warned you on your drive over here. "He might care about you. Hell, he might even really love you, but he doesn't know how and you can't keep making that your problem over and over again. It's not fair."

"Look..." Your breathing was uneven, your voice giving away your internal struggle no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. "I forgive you, but we... can't. I mean, we can't just keep doing this over and over. It's... not fair." It had held so much more conviction when it came from your best friend, but it was the best you could manage.

His hand disappeared from yours, wandering up to your cheek to catch tears that you didn't even realize had fallen. "Okay..." he conceded.

His tone was despondent, but his touch was soft. Light fingertips glided along your jawline, his face only centimeters apart from yours. "Then we won't."

"We won't." You repeated back to him, trying desperately to ignore the way his exhale fanned felicitously across your lips.

"Because..." You swallowed hard, watching his gaze drift carefully across your face. "We shouldn't."

He shook his head in agreement. "Absolutely shouldn't." He whispered, his hand trailing up to the back of your neck.

"And..." Emotion was putting up the fight of its life, your pupils widening as you stared back at him. "I deserve better."

"So much better." he echoed, leaning in closer, his mouth just barely grazing yours. "You deserve the fucking world."

Your body was betraying every bit of your sentiment, your breath hitching in your throat while his fingers tangled into your hair. "Megumi... you can't..."

"I'm not." his voice was like honey, his lips still ghosting yours. "All you have to do is pull away." His other hand began to slide delicately up your thigh, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. "Pull away and I'll walk you back to your car. We'll act like none of this ever happened."

"Megumi, please." It was a whimper. A pathetic plea that held no real merit. You weren't sure if you were begging for him to touch you or not touch you.

"I won't call you again. Won't see you again." His nails began to dig into the tenderness your inner thigh, his eyes still locked fiercely with yours. "I'll leave you alone for good this time... That's what you want, right?"

Wetness seeped between your legs as he kept on toying with the opening of your shorts. The warmth of his hand so infuriatingly close to where you wanted it and where it shouldn't be. Your already weak resolve was crumbling.

"Tell me to stop."

His forehead pressed against yours, opposite hand still holding your neck in place. "Tell me." He tried again, but all of your words had been stolen by the feeling of his palm roaming up towards your center.

With only a thin layer of fabric separating his fingers from you, he slowly began to spread you apart. If he hadn't been able to see your desperation before, he could certainly feel it now.

He watched every last bit of composure you had vanish as he started to draw soft, heavenly circles around your clit. Drowning in the little yelps and whines that you were trying so hard to bite back.

"Tell me to fucking stop."

There was suddenly no logic left in your brain. No one in control. No way to fight the way he was making you feel. You were a needy, pining mess and your body was practically groveling for him.

You finally let your lips catch his, shamelessly moaning against him while his grip tightened in your hair. "Don't -" You let out between heady breaths. "Don't stop. Please don't ever stop."

You were lost somewhere between his feral ocean eyes and the way his tongue swirled around yours.

He pulled the fabric to the side, plunging two unexpected fingers inside of you, smirking at the surprised squeal it'd gained him.

"Oh, that's my girl." He groaned, watching your eyes double in size.

Your walls were swallowing him, clenching around him shamelessly while more uncontrollable noises filled the room.

His thumb brushed against your clit, rubbing back and forth with precision as his fingers continued to slam into you. The three of them working together in perfect synchronicity. "There you go, that’s it.”

It had been so long. You knew it wouldn't take much, but you still felt pathetic when you realized you were already there. "Megumi- 'm -"

It almost caught both of you off guard how little it took. Your eyes snapped shut, your bottom lip lodged between your teeth as you soaked him. Your hips were thrusting, your pussy unapologetically dripping all over his hand while you mewled and writhed against him.

"Poor thing. Has it really been that long?"

It was somehow sweet, the way he mocked you.

His movements became more urgent, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to your feet so that he could help you out of your clothes. Your hoodie went first, your nipples hardening as you stood in front of him.

"So fucking pretty." He praised, still sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands were warm against your waist, tugging off your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, admiring the shiny slick glistening off of your cunt.

He took a moment to look you over, quietly memorizing every inch before his own pants were tossed aside.

Your legs straddled him as he guided you on top of him, his hands placed firmly on your hips. You drew in a shallow breath, watching him rub his tip against you, wetting himself with your cum before lining his cock up with your entrance.

You slowly lowered yourself onto him, basking in that familiar, heavenly stretch he always provided you with.

“Fuuuck.”

You weren’t sure which one of you had said it, too drunk off of the way he filled you to care.

His hands were still guiding you. Uppp and dowwwnnn, not quite letting you take the full thing just yet but still giving you plenty to keep you satisfied.

You watched his reaction to the way you rode him, smiled when you noticed his eyes starting to roll back. You were grinding against him, drawing out the prettiest sounds from him with your hands clasped behind his neck.

“You’re s’fucking…” he grunted, his words suddenly harder to get out. “tight… Jesus Christ, baby. You really didn’t fuck anyone else for 4 months, did you?”

It wasn’t like you had been trying to hide it, but it was still irritating that your body sold you out before you even had the chance to have that conversation with him.

You shook your head sheepishly, a faint warmth decorating your cheeks. “Didn’t -” he was pulling you down further this time, purposefully going deeper as he watched you struggle to form a proper setence. “Didn’t - want… t- to…”

“Didn’t want anyone else inside of you, huh?” His tone was breathy, condescending almost as he continued to maneuver you to his liking. “Didn’t want anyone else to fill up this tight fucking cunt besides me, is that it baby?”

You shook your head again, this time a bit more feverishly while he continued to force your weight down onto him. Your ass now smacking against his thighs with each pump into you.

“I -” you moaned, unable to hold it together the further down you went. “I just want you. O - only you.”

He kissed you, his tongue gently parting your lips as he slowly eased you down onto his length. “I love you.” He whispered.

You tried to say it back but it was lost entirely by the way he thrusted upward without warning and slammed every last blissful inch of himself into you.

Your eyebrows knitted together, your mouth dropping open at the feeling of his tip hitting your cervix. You were a dizzy, pouty, leaky mess, looking at him with stars in your eyes as he smirked back at you. "You’re okay, baby. You can take it.”

He had you tilted at just the right angle, lined up beautifully with your g-spot. You were taking in all you could, hips hungrily rocking back and forth against him.

"You're doing so good. Just like that."

You were practically delirious, already teetering on the verge of climax when his thumb found your clit again, creating more featherlight circles and more delicious, hopeless yelps from you.

"Megumi," his name practically echoed across the room, your walls starting to smother him. "I - fuck, baby ‘m -" You tried to bury your face into his shoulder, but he wouldn't let you. His free hand was quickly under your chin, forcing your attention back on him.

"Look at me." his voice was low but thoughtful, his fingers still working relentlessly against you. "Let me fucking see it."

It was enough to break you. To have you suddenly spasming around him as you soaked him. He didn’t stop though no matter how much you squirmed against him. No matter how incredibly loud your cries became. He continued to stretch you, bullying himself into you while still teasing your clit until you were both absolutely shaking.

His lips crashed into yours, hand tangled back into your hair when you felt him start to twitch inside you, filling you up as he groaned against your mouth.

“I love you.” You whispered this time, earning an exhausted smile from him.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, admiring the mess he’d made out of you before kissing you again, lavishly this time as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

It was all so natural, so right. As if no time had passed at all between you two. And maybe you were biased because of where you were currently sitting, but his once rough edges looked pretty smooth from this angle.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[hazelfoureyes]

gnawing at my encloser for pt7 of a doe in fall..

I really want to get my Rutting Alastor x Rabbit Fem Reader fic out first but I’m writing part 7 in tandem! It won’t be a terribly long part so I’ll try to get it out this week :)

in the meantime here’s a snippet of the rutting fic while I go to work (actual work 😩)

Alastor’s eyes rolled back, strong hands squeezing his prongs, tugging them forward as he imagined anyone riding him. Using his appendages as a handle while he bucked up into them. His hips were already moving, lower back rising off the carpet as he rolled his body up into the imaginary mate he despised his desperation for. His mind flicked through faces. Husk’s pained but satisfied expression, Vox’s tears as he whined, Carmilla’s lusty eyes paired with surrendered sighs. He lingered briefly on Angel’s smirk as his hands roamed down his chest and his thighs in tandem. 

But through the darkness of his imagination he saw two watery and timid orbs, tears welling as eyebrows rose in confusion. Pleasure making the features soften. Soft. Soft velvet ears he could tug on in turn, a little bushy tail he could grip. 

A doe. 

The only doe he knew of in the hotel. 

The radio on the writing desk flipped through channels, piecing together the sounds to form the words he was trying to forget, a magazine ransom note cut from sound bites.

out the windows

 always and forever, 

in yesterday. 

 rusty cage 

May you never

Hating how I

pull the trigger

say you love me?

say congratulations 

The relevant sounds spiked in volume, mocking him. 

He walked to the radio and hurled it across the room. Aggression. Already he was losing his self to hellish biology. 

A minor part of him didn’t want to use you. You always looked at him with such adoration, which he’d come to look forward to when others weren’t giving him adequate attention. You also seemed to genuinely see him as a friend, as much as he didn’t directly feed that idea.

But using people was how the world worked. Everyone was using someone. You had said how much you wanted to help�� Alastor leaned on the desk with both hands and watched the sweat fall onto the wood and leather writing surface.

How was his body leaking from every pore but his mouth was so dry?

His shadow reached for the thrown radio, the light flickering on. That dark doppelgänger using a song to offer another piece of torment for him, ‘you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine.’

༻Masterlist༺

[jungshookz]

teeny tidbits: namjoon wants a raise & y/n is kind of scary

i watched the proposal again recently + i’ve been on depop trying not to spend a million dollars on all the y2k corporate-core clothes = inspired me to write this snippet of ceo!y/n (you all know i have a soft spot for anything ceo i’m sorry) 

“ever since you hired me, i’ve managed to boost sales up by approximately 28%-“ namjoon clears his throat, trying his best to continue standing tall as he points to the screen with his little laser pen, “i’ve been working here for nearly a year and a half which you can argue hasn’t been very long, but at the same time i feel as though my efforts and the results that i’ve produced is well deserving of a raise, miss y/l/n. i wasn’t going to say anything but i’ve actually been offered a position elsewhere with a higher salary, and, well- i do enjoy working here, and i would like to stay here, but-“ 

you lean back against your office chair, propping both elbows up on the arm chairs before pressing your fingertips together, staring intently at the presentation in front of you 

your eyes follow the little red dot darting across the screen and you lick over your teeth as your head tilts to the side slightly 

“-so, what do you think?” namjoon reaches the end of his presentation and tucks his pen into his shirt pocket, very much aware of how much heat is radiating off his body from the nerves 

he’s heard some things about people who’ve tried to ask for raises, and making the bold move of coming directly to you has historically never ended very well for those guys 

jungkook presses the button for the lights to turn on and the blinds to roll back up from where he’s standing by the front door, offering namjoon a smile and a supportive nod 

at least five seconds of silence linger in the air and namjoon wonders if you’re able to hear his heart practically beating out of his chest 

you’ve also been maintaining eye contact with him the entire time he’s presented which makes him ten times as nervous because he’ll be the first to admit you have very nice eyes 

“…i think all of this could’ve been an email, kim.” you lean forward, office chair squeaking slightly as you swipe your phone off the table and unlock it, “the next time you want something, i don’t need a thirty-eight minute presentation on why you think you deserve it.” 

“ma’am?” namjoon’s face reddens and suddenly it feels like the collar of his button-up is suffocating him 

“who’s trying to poach you from me?” 

“i-if you don’t mind, i’d like to keep that detail priv-“ namjoon immediately stops talking when your eyes flicker up from your phone to look at him through your eyebrows, “ah- min corporations, miss y/l/n. i was contacted by their secretary last week.” 

“mm, i’ve spoken to that secretary. preppy little thing.” you snort, eyebrow raising slightly at the memory of the one time you got a call on your personal cell phone from min corporations (you’re not even sure how that secretary got your damn number in the first place) inviting you to a lunch with mr. min yoongi himself 

you went, of course, more than surprised to discover that the secretary wasn’t just his secretary but also his wife and the mother of his (adorable) daughter 

you don’t know how she managed to go from secretary all the way to wife/mother but hat’s off to her for pulling that off

with that being said you’re sure that if she spoke three decibels higher all the dogs in the city would start barking and all the windows in your office would’ve cracked 

“you’re a hard worker. i like having you on my team.” you set your phone face down on your desk, “get back to work. we can discuss numbers another day because if you make me look at another excel spreadsheet i might change my mind.” 

“oh, i- thank you so much, miss y/l/n, i really appreciate it! thank you so much-“ namjoon fumbles with the projector and switches it off, a weight instantly lifted off his shoulders at the implication that he will, in fact, be getting a raise 

“mm.” you gesture with a flick of your wrist for him to leave your office as you raise your phone to your ear, “min yoongi! trying to steal my star salesman, are you?” 

jungkook opens the door for namjoon, stepping aside to let him out before shutting the door behind him quietly 

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” jungkook beams, giving namjoon a hearty pat on the arm, “congratulations on the raise!” 

“i think i need to take a shot or something, that was- so stressful.” namjoon lets out a breath, reaching up to loosen his tie slightly, “god, she really- her eye contact is crazy intense sometimes-“ 

“it’s probably the eyeliner in her waterline making her look ten times scarier, you’ll survive-“ 

🎙️ ask y/n for eyeliner recommendations (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to your other faves!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!) 

[quidell-fics]

Here's a snippet of my Black Myth: Wukong Fanfic! I have a lot of it outlined...the reason why the OC got sent (isekai lol) into the world, her purpose, the small changes her presence will bring about, as well as...the ending of the game. Everything in between, I'm still outlining, but here's a rough draft of the first beginning part of chapter 1.

Please note that this might change slightly when I finish the chapter and edit the crap out of it, haha. I'm also trying to get the tone down. Still not 100% sure how I want to write the OC.

Still trying to decide on a name for this fanfic 🤔

"This simply won't do. You're soul…” I was paralyzed, as if ice had seeped into my veins, numbing me without its familiar sting. The world around me blurred, lost to the creeping dread that curled around my thoughts. The voice that had shattered the silence dripped with venom, a dark melody of displeasure that echoed through the emptiness, leaving me hollow and unsure. "But perhaps this will suffice, though it seems even beyond my understanding.” He was close, his voice brushing against me like a whisper on the wind, yet I couldn’t see him. The darkness pressed in, so deep, so consuming, that it swallowed everything, leaving me stranded in its suffocating void.  “But this,” he said, and I felt something slip from my grasp, the only sensation in the endless void. It was something I hadn’t even realized I was holding, “must be set aside for now.” A pause. “I'll return it to you once you've aided,” another pause, this one heavy with contemplation, a silence that lingered like a held breath, “him on his journey. And if, in turn, he helps you... well, should that come to pass, everything will change. Truly change. And at long last, his wish will be fulfilled." His words drifted past me like smoke, their meaning lost in the haze of my confusion. I couldn’t piece together who he was talking about, or what any of it meant. But my mind clung to the last fragments of what I knew—my bakery, the comforting warmth that lingered as I retired to my room for the night. And then... then, the world slipped into nothingness. No. Not into nothingness, but into a descent, a slow, inevitable fall. Now, I had found myself suspended in this void, floating in an abyss where sound, other than this voice, was swallowed whole and movement was a distant memory. My voice was silenced, my limbs were bound by unseen chains, and the darkness stretched on, unbroken and all-consuming. But despite the emptiness pressing in on all sides, I was unnervingly calm. Hollow, yes—adrift in this sea of uncertainty—but calm, as if this strange, bleak serenity was the only thing keeping me tethered to whatever was left of myself. "Do not disappoint me, little one. You’ve been granted a rare chance, but if you falter, the cycle will continue unbroken, and Reincarnation will not grace an outsider such as yourself. You will be lost to the void, your existence erased. Do you grasp the gravity of this?” No. I really didn't. "If yes, then perhaps there's a glimmer of promise in you after all. But don’t grow too confident—the true trials are only just beginning.” And then, the darkness swallowed me whole, and in that suffocating void, it felt as though I truly ceased to exist, because I no longer knew anything.

[theartofcollapse]

Would you be interested in writing a story about when Alex left the DA's office to work full time with DV victims ? She ends up working with the reader who's a rookie cop who becomes infatuated with her but doesn't make a move as she thinks she's straight. Alex finds out the reader is going on a date with another woman and she suddenly feels like she's about to lose the reader and confesses her feelings for her.

a/n: thank you for requesting! summary: read it above pairing: Alex Cabot x female reader warnings: none word count: 1K

masterlist

Jealousy Looks Good on You - Alex Cabot

The bustling precinct was a contrast to the quiet of Alex Cabot’s office. She stood in the doorway, folders tucked under her arm, her blue eyes scanning the room for you. She’d been working alongside you for months now, a partnership born out of a shared desire to protect victims of abuse. Though you were new to the force, your empathy and unwavering dedication had impressed Alex from the start.

What she didn’t anticipate was how much you would begin to impress her beyond just work.

You were leaning against your desk, listening as your partner, Detective Morales, recalled some ridiculous stories from high school. You laughed, and Alex couldn’t help but smile softly at the sound, though she quickly schooled her expression when you noticed her presence.

“Cabot,” you greeted with a polite nod, standing straighter. “What brings you here?”

“Follow-up on the Hayes case,” Alex replied, her voice cool and professional. She handed you the file, her fingers brushing yours briefly. “I thought you might want to review it before court tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” you said, opening the folder and glancing at the pages.

For a moment, Alex hesitated, lingering by your desk. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she offered a small smile and turned to leave, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

You didn’t think much of it. Why would you? Alex Cabot was stunning, brilliant, and, as far as you could tell, totally straight. Sure, you admired her, maybe a little too much for your own good, but you knew better than to mix work and feelings.

Still, it stung a little when she barely seemed to notice you outside of work.

That’s why, when your friend set you up on a date with a woman she swore was your type, you figured you’d give it a shot. There was no point pining over Alex when nothing could ever come of it.

Alex didn’t mean to overhear. Truly, she didn’t. But as she stood outside the Captain’s office, waiting to discuss a case, she couldn’t help but catch snippets of your conversation with Morales.

“…so, who’s the lucky lady?” Morales teased.

“Just someone my friend knows,” you said, your voice tinged with nervous excitement. “We’re getting drinks tonight.”

“First date, huh? You nervous?”

“A little,” you admitted with a chuckle. “She seems nice, though.”

Alex’s heart sank. She didn’t even realize she’d been gripping the file in her hand until her knuckles turned white.

You were going on a date.

With a woman.

Suddenly, the air felt thinner, her mind racing with thoughts she’d never allowed herself to fully acknowledge. She’d always told herself she valued your partnership, admired your dedication. But now, the thought of you being with someone else left her feeling like the ground was shifting beneath her feet.

When you returned to your desk that afternoon, Alex was already waiting for you. Her usual composed demeanor was replaced with something you couldn’t quite place, nervousness, maybe?

“Alex,” you said, surprised. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Can we talk?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“Uh, sure.” You motioned toward the break room, and she followed you inside. The space was empty, save for the faint hum of the vending machines.

“What’s going on?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

Alex hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours. For a moment, she seemed to struggle with her words.

“I heard you’re going on a date tonight,” she said finally.

You tilted your head, amused by her sudden awkwardness. “I am. Why?”

Alex drew in a sharp breath, her normally steady voice faltering. “Y/N, I care about you. More than I should. And hearing about your date, it made me realize I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You care about me?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer. Her blue eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of nerves and sincerity. “I care about you as more than a colleague or a friend. I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t.”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, a slow smile spreading across your face.

“Wow,” you said, crossing your arms. “The Alex Cabot, jealous of my date. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Alex blinked, flustered. “I’m not… jealous isn’t the point…”

“It kind of sounds like you’re jealous. It looks good on you, though.” you teased, leaning against the counter. “Should I cancel my date, or are you just here to give me your blessing?”

“Y/N,” Alex said, her voice firm but tinged with embarrassment. “This isn’t easy for me. I’m trying to tell you that I want to be the one you go on dates with.”

You couldn’t help but grin at her earnestness. “So, what you’re saying is that you like me?”

“Yes,” Alex admitted, her lips twitching into a small smile despite herself. “I like you.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” you said, stepping closer until you were barely a breath apart. “Because I’ve liked you for months.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “You have?”

You nodded. “I didn’t think I had a chance. And I figured you were too busy being brilliant and straight to notice anyway.”

Alex let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I guess I wasn’t as straight as I thought.”

Your grin widened. “Glad you figured that out before I went on my date.”

“I am, too,” Alex said softly, her voice dropping. “So, about that, are you canceling it?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before giving her a teasing smile. “I don’t know. Convince me.”

Alex rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in her gaze as she leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a soft kiss. The teasing comment you were about to make dissolved as you melted into her touch.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were faintly pink, but her smile was confident.

“Cancelling?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Definitely,” you said, grinning. “But maybe you should kiss me again, just so I can be sure I’m making the right decision.”

Alex laughed, the tension in her shoulders finally easing as she closed the distance once more.

[sky-swimmer]

New chapter still not done *vomits* so here's a deleted snippet

Me not having uploaded since the 14th after insisting this next chapter was my favorite? 🤡 I really outdo myself

In the meantime, here is a tiny deleted snippet from the next chapter if anyone wants it. This was from an very old draft. I'm taking a new direction with what happens, so this isn't spoilers. May give you a little chuckle if you like to see the beans embarrassed.

(Context: this is from my Devzel fic where they meet their future selves, find out they're engaged, and are NOT happy about it)

***

“Okay,” Hazel exhaled. Her cheeks were flushed, but she spun on her heels, forcing herself to face their older counterparts. “Then let’s figure out when it started.”

Dev nodded, folding his arms. "Yeah, and then we’ll just... prevent it."

Future Hazel’s smile lingered, tilting her head to the side as she surveyed her younger self. “When it started? Hmm..."

Future Dev, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. His expression softened into something almost... dreamy? “I feel like I’ve always had feelings for Hazel,” he sighed, eyes twinkling and wistful. “Maybe I was born with them~”

...

Hazel made a noise—somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. “Born with…?!” The words caught in her throat. She doubled over, and began coughing violently.

“YOU WERE NOT BORN WITH FEELINGS FOR HAZEL!” She heard Dev shriek from beside her. His voice cracked and his arms began to flail like a malfunctioning wind turbine.

Hazel barely registered him through her coughing fit, crumpling as if future Dev’s declaration had fatally wounded her.

“Can one of you PLEASE just answer the question like a normal person?!” Dev hissed, fingers digging into his scalp like he might rip his hair out.

But future Hazel wasn’t listening. She clasped her hands over her heart, her face glowing with adoration. “That’s so sweet!” she swooned, launching herself at her fiancé. “I love you so much—I could never not love you.”

And suddenly, Hazel’s body went into pure survival mode. Air inflated her lungs for the sole purpose of screaming.

***

YEAH! EXACTLY! Learning self control TODAY- Removing stuff like this?? When my heart just wants to write 7934839537857483 scenes of future Devzel terrorizing highschooler Devzel??? I'm truly so mindful. Alas, I must make an attempt at pacing and not making everyone wildly OOC 😤👍 AND THIS ISN'T MAKING THE CUT

As for when chapter 6 is predicted? hopefully this week??

PS: Sorry, I'm behind on asks- working on chapter and haven't had a moment to check!!!

[cas-backwards-tie]

Golden

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Summary: Johnny reminisces on his summer fling with you. Horizons broaden and world shaken, he comes to a realization.

Words: 600+

Warnings: None!

Mentions of: past one night stands, sexual intimacy,

A/N: I forgot about this for a sec, but @bumblebeesfromvenus reminded me, and I was bound to write this drabble. also, line divider credit to @enchanthings . I repeat- I repeat- I’m not really a Swiftie or anything BUT 🙈😳👀😭 I keep seeing this snippet of the song on my fyp on tiktok and I just can’t help but think about how:

Johnny is definitely no chump when it comes to lacking experience in the bedroom… yet when it comes to love? That’s another story altogether. Sure, he may not have been caught fraternizing, and he’d never put his career in jeopardy for anything long term. That’s why it’s so unexpected when you suddenly pop into his life after a much needed leave.

You’re a civilian, but much like him you too travel for work. Yet your vacations just so happened to line up with one another. While his might have been more of an obligated leave of absence for recovery, yours was to adventure and see the world.

That’s what brought you to his homeland of Scotland. Though more specifically, the Highlands. What’d started out as a coincidental bump into each other turned into playful flirting before he fully knew what he’d gotten himself roped into by offering to show you around all the more niche points of interest that might’ve not been in the airport’s pamphlets or kept off the popular blogs online.

After a series of ambitious expeditions; a haphazard picnic made up of the snacks you’d brought atop a hill after hiking all day, braving the chilly ocean at the Isle of Skye, a kayaking adventure gone wrong, and many more stories… it never left him. Even after months of traveling back and forth to see one another in different parts of the world, that trip… you… never left his mind.

Truth be told, it didn’t take him until now to realize what he felt, in fact, he’d swear part of him knew all along. And while, yes, it may have been the prodding and poking his teammates did that sparked the realization of what his feelings truly were, it didn’t take away from the fact that you’d changed his world.

John always thought that love would be simple. It was something that you’d know once you felt it, once you’d experienced it. Like a snap of fingers, that was love. Once you were in it, it was done, unchanging, a stagnant blissful feeling that’d never fade, and yet… that wasn’t true at all.

You’d shown him that.

Love was… the exact opposite. It wasn’t some sudden onset of passion, a fleeting whirlwind of fiery fervor that eventually fizzled out. Love is… ever changing.

It’s the mischievous little moments the two of you share together that leave you laughing like children when you decide to sneak into his childhood bedroom in the middle of the night, or the sparkle in your eye when you’ve accomplished something you’d only ever dreamed of.

The easiness and comfortability that’d lead him to falsely believe he’s known you his entire life, the way you’d slipped right into his grasp and he never wanted, even for a second, to let you go. Maybe it was the vulnerability that seemed so effortless between the both of you, one saying something that lead the other to let a personal fact or story slip past their lips, with no embarrassment or regret to follow.

Perhaps it’s the way you linger in his mind, images of your time spent together consuming him what feels like every waking moment. From the friendly interactions to the naughtier memories slipping toward the forefront of his mind as he reminisces on the way you’d stared at him, eyes full of adoration as he’d held you close, soft skin just beneath his fingertips as he inhaled the scent of your mixed sweat and the sweetly shampoo you use. He never wanted to lose the visceral remembrance of those intimate moments.

Yes, he knows now that he was so wrong to think that love was nothing more than simply black or white. Every single day he’d spent with you only proved that fact as he fell more and more in love, the emotions expanding and shifting, adapting with every breath of the wind. Oh, how wrong he was, he thinks back on it, smiling to himself like an idiot as the only thing he knows is that he needs to tell you how he feels. Solidify that fact and take a chance, make a move to tie you down… tie you to him. That is, if you’ll let him, or it’s not too late. He could care less if his brothers see him like this, it’d be worth it for you. It always will.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @jynzandtonic , @safarigirlsp , @moonlightsolo , @penelopepine

[fruitsboots]

The angel on my shoulder wants to ask about the coffeshop au, but the devil wants to know about the weed one

Dealers choice 😅

poor coffeeshop au, you were supposed to be finished no later than New Years....

so coffeeshop AU is a TOS holiday-ish fic that is going to be McKirk to McSpirk.

Spock works as a physics professor at a university, but his old friend Pike asked him to come help work weekends at his coffeeshop until the holidays are over since he knows Spock doesn't really have a social life.

while working at the coffeeshop, Spock meets a very handsome Jim Kirk who owns a bookstore down the street and comes in and orders something very complicated every Friday afternoon. Every Sunday morning, a snarky Doctor McCoy comes in and orders black coffee.

Will Spock ever get the complicated order right? Will the three of them ever meet up? Will I ever actually finish this fic? All great questions that I'll have to write so you find out.

--

As for weedfic, it's TOS where the crew is going down on shoreleave but the trio are staying behind. Due to the smell of a candle Jim got as a gift, he's feeling nostalgic for the like 3 times he smoked weed with his brother as a teen. After talking to McCoy about it dramatically, the good doctor procures some weed and they proceed to have a nice time hanging out in the arboretum.

This one's in my current working rotation but I'm not really sure where I'm going with it lol. It was supposed to be lighthearted and silly but sort of turned more intimate and poetic which is fine! Big snippet of weedfic under the readmore <3 Thanks for the ask! Maybe this will motivate me to write lol

CW: Drugs

It started with a candle.

A gift from Uhura on his birthday, specially ordered and crafted with him in mind to remind him of Iowa.

The candle itself was simple in design, a cream colored wax with three wicks in a heavy, dark orange colored glass holder. The scent was the thing that was truly special about it.

Crisp and earthy like a late autumn night. The slight dusty smell of dried corn. A hint of sweetness. A touch of smoke.

As soon as he sniffed the candle, memories of Jim’s younger years wove together into a soft tapestry. First kisses and raking leaves. Libraries and school dances. Truck beds and corn fields.

Truck beds and corn fields.

Sam and Sam’s handsome friend pulling up to the house, beat up red pickup truck caked in mud up to the windows in the middle of the night and don’t be a loser Jimmy, it’s not sneaking out if mom and dad aren’t even on the planet. Holding on for dear life, tossed around in the bed of the truck as it swerves recklessly through a harvested cornfield that they definitely shouldn’t be in but it’s alright because Sam says it is and rules can be broken sometimes. Broken rules like passing a joint and chilly air, he should’ve brought his gloves but the smoke fills his lungs and warms him from the inside. Hot, too hot. Coughing in chorus with laughter, a sheepish grin, he’s not going to let on that he’s nervous for the drug’s effect.

Slow then slower. Time slowing down. Thoughts slowing down. Laying down, corrugated plastic pressed into his back. Endless sky, endless stars. Galaxies swirling in his head.

Jim found himself lingering on that particular memory days after receiving the gift. Though he’d refused to light it, he’d occasionally bring the candle to his nose, eyes closed, and try with futility to grasp onto the bittersweet feeling of being sixteen again.

“Y’know, if you lit it you could smell it better. Rather than shoving your entire nose into it.”

Jim pulled the candle away from his face and placed it back on the shelf by his bed. They should be sleeping, but goodnight kisses had turned to something more and now it was late. Jim turned towards the bed where Spock looked more than halfway asleep already, lying on his back with a naked McCoy pressed to his bare side.

“If I did that, it wouldn’t last,” Jim said with a tired smile. “Feels like I should wait. Some special occasion to light it or something.”

“For candle that smells like a hog farm?” McCoy joked. “We’ll have to make sure to break it out the next time we have a good ol’ fashioned barn raising.”

Jim laughed softly, but the comment hit him in the heart. He hesitated before speaking.

“Have you ever tried cannabis?”

The question hung in the air for a moment with only the sound of Spock beginning to snore softly as McCoy raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he tried to sit up but the sleeping Vulcan’s arm held him tighter.

“Answer the question, Bones” Jim countered, going to squeeze into the bed next to McCoy. “Computer, lights to 10%.”

The magenta glow of the room dimmed gradually, leaving them in almost-darkness.

“Oh, come on Jim, I’ve told plenty of stories about my mama. What d’you think she would’ve done if she’d caught me smoking weed like some kinda hooligan?”

Jim pressed his face against McCoy’s shoulder and smiled, letting his eyes close. “Hmm…so how many times?”

“…four or five,” the doctor answered honestly. “First few times I don’t think I did it right, nothing really happened except I nearly coughed up a damn lung. That or my friends were pulling a prank on me.”

“And after that?” he felt Spock’s arm twitch between them. Jim leaned away to let Spock readjust, McCoy now free to turn to face him.

“Mm, I don’t really remember, it was a long time ago. Kinda remember getting paranoid and listening to some 22nd Century neo-classical, but those might have been separate times.”

Jim chuckled at the thought and gently rested an arm over McCoy’s waist. “Would you try it again?”

In the dim light, he could see the furrowed brow paired with a quirked smile. “What’s all this about, Jim? You’ve been acting particularly wistful the past few days.”

So McCoy had noticed. Jim supposed that he was usually good at hiding his frequent ‘moods’, not wanting to come across as anything other than the steady, even-keeled captain.

“Nothing, it’s just,” Jim sighed, fidgeting slightly. “You know how I get around my birthday. Just…thinking of the passing of time. She’s a cruel mistress….an hourglass of sand, unable to be turned back over—”

“Jim, it’s late, spare me the monologue.”

[inwiste]

was kicking around the idea with @fashionredalert of madara finding out hashirama and izuna are together after months of getting bitched at by hashirama for dating tobirama... at some point i will write more snippets but the basic idea was just "wouldn't it be funny if hashirama was genuinely insufferable about madara daring to touch his precious baby brother" as if he was not being the biggest hypocrite known to mankind

"You could always stay a bit longer," Izuna murmurs. His hair is still damp from the bath, fresh yukata cinched tight. Hashirama's fingers twitch. He can't stop his hands from finding Izuna's waist, pulling him close enough to touch. A dangerous thing to do when he has places to be.

"I can't," Hashirama sighs. He presses a kiss to Izuna's temple, the smell of his hair oil still lingering. He's already late. It's difficult to bring himself to care. "I can come back tonight if you're free."

A kiss is his answer, deep and slow. Izuna nips at his lip when they move to part and he cannot help but deepen the kiss in response, pulling Izuna flush against him. It's far too filthy for the early morning but it's still good.

It's a long time before he's willing to pull away. The flush on Izuna's cheeks, the swollen, shining lips and the dazed look in his eyes are each a temptation of their own.

It's agonizing to step away. He wants nothing more than to pick Izuna up and bring him to the bedroom for a detailed reenactment of the previous night but the rising sun is a cruel reminder of where he's needed.

"I can come by around seven," Hashirama says as he shrugs on his haori. "Do you want me to bring something for dinner?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Izuna sighs. "I have the day off, so if you finish up before then you're welcome to come early."

He stills for a moment. It's rare now, for him to spend a night alone. He's gotten used to having another person beside him.

He can't help but smile. To turn back to Izuna, hand finding his cheek, lips seeking Izuna's own. There's something he would dare call fondness in Izuna's eyes as he pulls away, heading for the door.

"I'll do my best," he finally says. Izuna's huff is more than enough reward.

The door swings open easily but he freezes in the middle of his step, face slackening in surprise. His free hand finds the door frame, steadying him as he stares.

Madara stares right back in equal surprise.

The moments tick by in complete silence. Madara hasn't moved, hasn't done anything save for stare, face settling into blankness.

He's forgotten that Izuna was still in the hallway, the reminder of his presence renewed by his voice, cutting through the prelude of what's to come.

"Well… fuck."

[punkypiscesell-writes]

when it comes without a warning

chapter 0.5

Javier Peña x plus size f! reader

summary: Your friend announces she’s engaged and is adamant at finding you a date. After all, you’re the last of her friends who is still unmarried. After a chance meeting with Javier Peña, an ex-DEA agent whose name you’ve only heard, he comes to your bakery with an offer too tempting for you to pass. You’ll pretend to be together until the wedding to get people off your backs and part ways afterwards. No feelings, clear rules, that’s it. Nothing could go wrong, it’s a foolproof plan. Until you become convinced rules are meant to be broken, even the ones you swore not to break.

warnings (updated after each chapter): fake dating AU, strangers to lovers, romcom, 90’s vibes, angst, small town dynamics, slow burn, pining, mentions of God, mentions of losing a parent (no specifics), the picture in the header is just for the visual and isn't an indication of the reader's skin color. Not beta read. If you see any broken Spanish, please let me know!!

word count: 2.3k

notes: Happy holidays! It has been a while since I last posted something. This idea has been brewing in my head for a good year and a half now and after reading through the lengthy outline of scenes, dialogue, songs, pictures, and ideas I’ve been gathering during this time, it’s finally time to write it out. My lovely friend Jess, @javierpenaispunk, has given me so much confidence in creating this story. She has been the listening ear of occasional snippets I’ve wanted (and needed) to share while I’ve been otherwise having a break from writing. Her patience is truly remarkable and if I were her, reading a scene from the middle of the story with no background or setup, I would’ve wanted to know more immediately. Her gentleness has nurtured my creativity and I’m glad I have such a supportive friend who is my personal cheerleader and who is always up for a conversation, no matter if it’s about something silly or deep. I hope you, Jess, and anyone who reads this will like it and you'll enjoy your time with this story.

This is the only chapter in Javier's POV, the rest is told from the reader's perspective.

dividers by cafekitsune

A few weeks after the wedding...

Javier doesn’t wake up. Instead, his brain catches up to his senses slowly. One moment he’s checked out, living in the darkness between night and morning. It’s a place somewhere in a dream world that is much more inviting than the one that turns out to be true. The next, clarity creeps in with the reminder that he hasn’t closed his eyes at all since he woke up last morning and crashed into bed after sitting on the porch listening to the quiet of the ranch which was ear shatteringly loud.

Light pushes itself gently into the stuffy room. Javier hears the sound of the bathroom tap when his dad brushes his teeth, then the soft click of the door when he closes it after himself and hobbles down the stairs with off-balance feet. The smell of fresh coffee drifts up next and mixes with the tainted taste in his mouth that lingers in his mouth after too many glasses of cheap alcohol and too many cigarettes now dumped on an ashtray only hours earlier.  

He really should brush his teeth as well. It would bring a sense of normalcy to his day, mark a beginning that ends somewhere. It would pause the drifting along a timeline that repeats itself with the sun setting and creeping up the horizon again, with the work he does day after day, the screaming of his liver and brains when he picks up the beer, whiskey or tequila to get his mind off things… off you… to only have the smell of you, the touch of your hands, the feel of your skin, your body, branded on him and the memory crush him like a freight train.

If he could travel back in time, to Colombia, he could drown all of this, this useless emptiness, this sense of… fucking heartbreak into work that would take all his brain capacity, and he wouldn’t have time to think about anything else other than work. That part of his life is behind him though. Now he only has the town where everyone knows everyone’s business, the ranch, endless days and nights of quiet and simplicity, home cooked meals and his dad watching reruns of the same shows on tv every evening.

Whether it’s an escape or a way to have the ghost of you around him, Javier picks up the bottle again and again. He tortures himself with everything that reminds him of you like you were gone.

The other option is too terrifying.

He could make his way to town, open the bakery door and find you working. He could talk with you and ask you out, like you had, and this time he wouldn’t remind you of the arrangement you two had promised to follow.

It was broken the second he came up with the idea, on that balcony on New Year’s Eve as you stood there with a drink in your hand, a sad look in your eyes as you watched the people on the other side of the window celebrating. You turned to him, forgot about the sadness in your eyes and smiled at him like you were two sides of the same coin. You clinked your glass against his and wished him a happy new year. The mix of emotions hung heavily over your head, but you kept it away from him.

Javier’s skin itches under the too hot blanket as sunlight warms it up against his naked back. He doesn’t dare move it away. He hasn’t washed it in ages. It always smelled a little stale and reminded him of home. Those days when his mom would wash it for him because she knew he wouldn’t. That was years ago and now it has a new smell. It’s fading, day by day losing any particle of you.

Another string of hurt makes its way from the you sized space in his head down through his eyes, nose, mouth, throat, to his chest and spreads uncomfortably from the top layers of his skin to the deepest tissue. It flips his stomach and forces him to take a deep breath.

He found your necklace last night.

Maybe it was that time you had come over to bring his dad leftover pastries from the bakery. Your visit turned out to be a way for you to get a chance to thank him for taking you to the town after your car broke down.

Or maybe it was that time you had seen Javier’s dad run errands in town. “We have a little time, right?” You panted against his mouth and ripped his shirt off his shoulders. Your hands moved to his jeans when he held on to the shirt to not leave it downstairs. Of course, Chucho already knew then, but Javier didn’t want to fuel the gossip fire even more while the biggest evidence was parked out at the front of the house: your car.

Or maybe it was the time you came over for dinner. It wasn’t even Javier’s idea, but his dad’s. “I want to get to know her!” He said to Javier then. You stayed over that night, the second of two nights. The scent of end was already in the air. You didn’t sleep that night, neither did he. You wrapped yourself around him, clung to him with such force that your skin started to melt into his. He was at peace, just like all those other nights when he was with you, and you refused to let go.

Javier will never forget how you climbed on his lap for the first time, unsure and shy, your heartbeat hammering so hard it made your skin pulse and ripple under his touch. And then that first night you came over to the ranch, with his dad fallen asleep in the living room downstairs while the shopping tv blared old commercials. You climbed on Javier’s lap and drowned your moans bravely in his mouth and against his neck. That night was never ending and he would’ve wanted it to last even longer.

Maybe it was one of those times when you came over and left before he wanted to let go. During one of those visits you lost your necklace you always had around your neck no matter what the occasion was. You once told him it belonged to your mom, but you never told him more. From the way you turned from him and changed the subject, the conversation never continued, and Javier didn’t want to pry.

The lock is broken. The sunlight glimmers against the rosy gold, tiny links that lay on the pillow where he laid it. It was between the wooden bed frame and the old spring mattress that whines when laid on. The smell of you in his nose and the necklace on his pillow, it’s almost like you’re here with him. Javier can hear your out of breath laugh in his ears like the ecstasy of euphoria was still fresh in his veins, filling his brain with fluff and you. The memory hurts. You could be here if he had only admitted he had resigned from the arrangement a long time ago.

The kitchen windows look onto the porch. Chucho is drinking coffee and reading the paper with glasses pushed on his nose. There’s a mug on the kitchen counter for Javier too. It’s empty, but the message is demanding. With his skin now freshly scrubbed, his face shaved, his mustache trimmed, and his hair washed and brushed back, Javier is almost functioning like a human again. He fills his mug and steps outside. It’s cool still, but not for long. The humidity of the early morning is an indication of what it’ll be like later when the temperature climbs over 90.

Chucho has been following his son demolish himself for a few weeks. It hasn’t taken a lot of brain power for him to put two and two together when you haven’t come over anymore and Javier hasn’t stayed over at yours. The nights on his own were lonely, a reminder of when Javier was in Colombia. He would still take those lonely evenings and nights over a hundred times instead of seeing Javier pour his poison of choice down his throat.

“You came in late,” Chucho notes behind the paper without taking his eyes off the inked pages. Javier doesn’t answer, he never does because there’s no question.

“Would you run me some errands today?”

“I can stay and work on whatever you need, you can go.” Javier drinks the coffee and replaces the recollection of your taste with the strong, warm scent of the drink in his mug.

Chucho lowers the paper, his eyes fixed on his son. “What are you running away from?” Javier has to steady the mug in his hand after a cold wave crashes through him.

“Why are you hiding here?”

“I’m not.” The muttered words are unconvincing even to Javier. What they sounded to his dad pushes on his buttons, unnamed frustration piles up in his throat.

“After your mom passed, I too stayed here and locked myself away. You know what kept me alive?”

Javier’s knee sways from side to side, another kind of crushing hurt spreading in his chest with the pressure still blocking his vocal chords.

“You.” Chucho forces Javier to look at him by placing his hand on his son’s knee, stilling the stressful movement. His wrinkled and sun spotted face is soft as he looks at his son, a little smile on the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve always reminded me of her not because God sketched you in her image, but because of your gentleness and how much you feel. You’ve always been sensitive, mi hijo. Don’t waste it by hiding yourself away here.” Javier has to look away and bite the inside of his cheek. Every time his dad calls him by that endearment, many years of unconditional, proud love between a father and his child spills between them.

“You didn’t get your romantic streak from her though,” Chucho withdraws his hand and chuckles to himself.

Javier wants to desperately change the mood. “Where then? The songs she used to listen to?” He asks, hoping his dad will catch onto the joke in his voice.

“From me.” Of course he doesn’t joke back. “You think I won your mom over with my dashing personality?” Javier snorts.

His whole life his dad has been warm, generous and kind. People can trust Chucho and he’s easy to get to know. He’s respected in the community and for a good reason. But God knows if you cross Chucho Peña, you will never hear the end of it. Javier’s mom was strict, but not like his dad. He only accepted to hear the truth when Javier was growing up yet he was never judgmental. Now it’s easier to keep secrets from him, keep him at an arm’s length, even when Javier would need his support.

“I had to work for her to see me and take me seriously. I was the underdog.” The meaning behind the words doesn’t go unnoticed by Javier. He leans the side of his face against his fingers, his coffee mug forgotten against his thigh. Chucho looks too pleased with himself for getting his son’s full attention.

“You think I’m an underdog?” Javier asks, curious to hear how his dad will spin it.

“Yes.”

“Thanks for being honest.” Chucho laughs his familiar, deep, vibrating laugh and fixes his glasses on his nose.

“You are an underdog because you make yourself the underdog. Did you really think your arrangement with her would work when you both fell for each other?” His words shock the sarcastic smile off of Javier’s face.

“You are in love with her, and it won’t change no matter how long you’ll hide and run away from her.” Javier takes a sip of his coffee. It’s already cooling. The humid Texas air lifts sweat on his armpits, encouraged by his dad’s words.

“You can’t say that,” he starts, a lump in his throat as thick as wool.

“Say what?”

“That she fell for me.”

“Why do you think I’m saying you’re making yourself the underdog?”

“No lo sé, papá,” Javier shakes his head.

“Porque no quieres admitir que ella también se enamoró de ti.” His skin prickles uncomfortably. More memories. More you.

“You might be our son, but you haven’t inherited your cynicism from us.” Chucho thinks out loud.

Javier has to get away. “What errands do you want me to run?”

“I need you to get stamps and groceries.” Javier stands and downs the rest of his coffee, hoping it was something stronger. “Oh, and those pastries with the cream.” Another wave of sweat pearls under his arms. He pulls the screen door open and is already stepping inside.

“Tienes permitido amar y ser amado, mi hijo.” Javier stops. His fingers squeeze the wood frame of the screen door. The paint is chipping. From the corner of his eye, he notices his dad looking up at him. Another demand.

Javier answers it by turning to his dad. He empties all the air from his lungs through his lips. His sight gets hazy from the dry tears that prickle his eyes. Chucho reaches for his hand holding the mug but settles on his wrist and squeezes. The air is thick from the unsaid words, the ones that are hidden in his dad’s warm hand on his skin.

He nods and pulls his hand back.

Javier places the mug in the sink. He leans against it to settle his thrashing heart. How did he end up here? How did he laugh about it then, guessing he would corrupt you and your assumed innocence. How did he end up breaking the promise he made for himself about it only being an arrangement, but ended up following your words instead?

“You might corrupt me,” you said with a wicked glint in your eyes, “but I won’t be the one falling in love.” You were joking then. He laughed when you touched your wine glass against his.

And then he fell.

[wannaeatramyeon]

your sammy content has me screaming, blushing, giggling and kicking my legs!!! idk if you write for this stuff, but would you mind writing what yandere sammy, gun and goo would be like? have a wonderful day <3 - 🌺anon

Fanon Sammy has me reacting exactly the same tbh! TYSM for reading and the ask 🌺🌺🌺🌺❤️

Oof. Toxic, abusive relationships? (And this is also a trigger warning). I haven't made this as dark as it could be but here we go...

Lookism Yanderes: Gun Park, Goo Kim, Samuel Seo

A snippet into their toxicity

Gun Park

"How was school?"

You land on the sofa with a crash next to Gun.

Ugh. School was... school. Albeit a little better this week than it has been. The worst of your project work is over and that idiot in your class hasn't been around.

"Is that classmate still giving you trouble?"

"Huh? Oh. I haven't seen him this week."

"Hmm. Interesting."

Something about the way Gun says that draws your attention.

Why is he smiling? Is he happy that you're happy or-

Come to think of it. You haven't seen him since you last mentioned him bullying you to Gun.

... Everyone who causes you trouble has a habit of going 'missing'.

There was the group of girls who harassed you. Some drunken idiot who catcalled. This classmate who started picking on you. And actually, that boy you made friends with a few months back and Gun had disapproved when you told him.

The dots start to connect.

You startle back to the present and notice Gun staring intently at you. He knows that you know.

"Don't be scared, Y/N. I'm only doing this to protect you."

You know your boyfriend is violent, but you never thought-

"Are they..." you can't bring yourself to say the word 'dead'. The idea that Gun killed these people terrifies you.

"Not dead. They just aren't here anymore." Gun notices the shock written all over your face. He continues, "Y/N, haven't I made your life so much easier?"

And that is true. To an extent. But-

"You understand I would never hurt you?"

Wouldn't he? You suppose he has never laid a hand on you. You nod.

"You trust me?"

That, you do. He has never given you reason to doubt him. You nod again.

"Say the words."

"I trust you..."

"And?"

"It's for my own good." you say, even as the insidious grip of fear starts to wind its way around your neck.

Goo Kim

The bell to the cafe jingles, signalling a new patron. You put on your peppiest customer service smile.

Oh. Your face falls when you see who it is.

"You're here again?"

Goo just grins, taking his usual spot right by the counter. Right by you. "Yes my little sweetpea. Just visiting my love at work!"

It started as a nice gesture, Goo occasionally popping in. And if he wasn't here then he would be constantly texting you.

(He sulked for a week straight when you told him you weren't allowed your phone when you're working. Somehow you felt personally responsible for this despite it being a work policy.)

His quick coffee breaks turned into a few hours of lingering then eventually staying during your entire work schedule.

It is too much. Far too much.

"Goo... You know I got told off last time when you stayed for my whole shift."

"Is your manager still giving you a hard time!" Your boyfriend looks at you with the saddest puppy eyes and a pout. Goddamn it. Why are you the one feeling guilty.

You press on with what you want to say anyhow, "... Don't you think you being here all the time is a little inappropriate?"

Not just a little - a lot, you think. And not inappropriate - completely suffocating. But you are careful with your words.

"No! How could you think that..." The sulk intensifies and Goo looks genuinely upset. Ah shit. You're about to apologise- "Besides, I think your new boss would be fine with this."

In a blink of an eye, the mood changes. Goo looks happy. Manic, almost.

You narrow your eyes at him. What is he up to. "How do you know?"

"Let's just say I know him very personally."

"Who is it?"

"Your beloved - me! I bought this little cafe! Now I can see you all day every day!"

Seriously? This is ridiculous.

Your eyes quickly dart towards the other customers and your coworkers. You can't make a scene and frankly, you don't have the energy for this fight.

Nor do you want to put up with a week straight of tantrums until you inevitably suck it up and apologise.

Instead, you attempt your customer service smile again.

You hope it works.

Samuel Seo

Entering the living room, you are immediately greeted by Samuel glaring at you.

"Where have you been?"

"Didn't you see my text?" You are sure you texted him before you left, telling him not to wait for you for dinner.

"I must have missed it." His expression doesn't change. "Where did you go?"

It was nothing special. You just had a catch up with a few classmates over a meal. Your eyes glance at the clock. It's not even 8pm.

"Who were you with?"

You explain (and you did mention if he had just checked his phone), but Samuel makes you list out every person.

"There were guys there?"

You frown at him. Well, yes but it's not like it wasn't a group-

"Am I not enough for you?"

The question surprises you but you read between the lines. You know Samuel has his insecurity issues, and you have been trying to work through them with him. Surely, this should have been fine.

"Of course you are," You try to defuse the situation, yet the doubt creeps in that you could have been more considerate.

"I would be more comfortable if you asked first." Samuel approaches you, angry and disappointed. "How am I supposed to concentrate on work if I don't know where you are?"

"But I did text-"

"Do you want me to lose my job?"

You shake your head.

"Everything I've worked for?" Samuel looms over you, looking furious.

You shake your head again.

"Then why is it too much to ask you to ask me first before you wander off?"

Your eyes start to well up with tears.

"Don't be like that." Immediately the anger is gone, replaced by concern, "I'm only worried about you."

His hand reaches out to stroke your cheek, and you lean into it - does this mean that the worst of the storm seems to be over?

"You know I love you, right?"

Of course. It's obvious that Samuel loves you. And you love him too. He's only doing this for your sake.

"I know. Sorry for making you worry."

[mrs-snape5984]

“I will love you unconditionally…”

“Come just as you are to me, don't need apologies. Know that you are worthy!” (“Unconditionally” by Katy Perry)

Feathers. Feathers everywhere. The teenagers were panting heavily from their previous childish pillow-fight, staring at each other with red, sweaty faces. But something about the whole mood seemed to change…shifting into something else…something unfamiliar. The sudden tension between Severus and Julia became palpable, wavering in thick air. His voice cut the awkward silence between them. “What is this all about, Jules?” Brushing the cheeky strand of hair - which seemed to have a life on its own…always falling over his left eye - out of his face, Severus glanced at her, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t know, what to think about her latest antics. Would she be the next person, who would abandon him? He knew it…he shouldn’t have gotten too attached to her….he shouldn’t have allowed her to break through his walls. “You’re pathetic, Severus!”, he scolded himself internally, coursing his heart for this feeling of hope, that he had given permission to grow in his chest. “You should have known better than that.”

“Sevy, I…”, her voice broke mid sentence, when she recognised the familiar expressions of annoyance and disappointment in his face. No…this was not supposed to happen! This was the moment, when Julia knew, that she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. She couldn’t lose him! Her friend! Her companion through thick and thin! Taking a deep breath, Julia took his hand in hers and revealed her deepest feelings for him. It was now or never!

“Sevy, from the very first moment, when I've seen you in the Great Hall...this way too skinny, raven haired boy with his adorably crooked nose and those beautiful - and yet so sad - obsidian eyes...l've been fallen head over heels for you!”, she blurted out…feeling her heart beating up to her throat. There was no way back for her now, that was for sure.

“Jules…what…”, but before Severus could react to her blunt confession, Julia stopped him from talking, shaking her head vigorously. “Listen to me, Sevy! Let me explain this to you. It’s…it’s your soul!”, she stuttered nervously, stumbling over her own words.

“Your soul has always seemed to be surrounded by some kind of magnetic field, Sevy. And my poor soul is constantly lingering on it…desperately trying to get attached to yours.” Julia’s cheeks went scarlet, but it was too late…she couldn’t stop herself from confessing her feelings to her best friend anymore.

“I’m like a goddamn moth…”, she uttered nervously, “and you…you’re the light! I…I can’t help myself…you…you’re all, I can think about!”

„I am…the light?“ Severus was speechless. Never would he have considered himself as a light…and especially not as a light to someone! But he couldn’t say anything further to his best friend‘s confession…not since Julia just didn’t stop talking!

„I don't expect anything from you, Severus. My love for you is…unconditionally…and…undeniably.“, she continued with her flow of words. This wasnt new to Severus, he knew Julia’s habit of losing herself in an endless stream of rhapsody over the most random things. But he had never expected to become the subject of her rambling speech…and she still didn’t come to an end!

„I will find you inside your own darkness, Severus...no matter, where you are…no matter, where you’re hiding yourself from the world! I want to be the light, that leads you home. I will break through the cage, you've built around yourself. And I won't ever let you go!“, declared Julia boldly before she interrupted herself, holding her breath. Suddenly, there was only one thought left in her mind: “Oh no…what have I done?!”

This was a little snippet from one of my more innocent stories, which I’m writing in my sleepless nights in order to cope with my own situation…and gosh, I’m so fucking nervous to share this with you all for the very first time.

Even though I’m someone, who always seemed to be quite self-confident towards others, I’m only a very insecure and overly sensitive person on the inside. My whole life, there was always one thought in the back of my head: What if I’m not good enough? What if I’m nothing but a failure?

And since I’m struggling with this cruel disease ME/CFS, which completely cuts me off from the life, I’ve used to known…my insecurities and vulnerabilities are growing even deeper. So, this is a sign of trust, you wonderful people of Snapedom! I’m trusting you with a tiny piece of my heart…a tiny piece of my true self.

My friend, the wonderfully talented artist @snake-queen7, drew this beautiful artwork of Sevy and Jules in the middle of their pillow-fight….and you did a fantastic job, my dear! Thank you for letting my fantasies come to life…for allowing me to feel alive again through your excellent art!

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

[leftoverbriocheloaf]

Going to say number 4 for the fic snippit thing

(honeslty impressive how many wips you have)

Oooooh I'm v excited for this one in particular

Here's the snippet, and I'll post more about the au at the bottom!!

“Solved it!”

Edgar freezes, his train of thought entirely cut off as he turns to his competitor. He doesn't notice the files slip out of his hands, fluttering to the ground. That's… impossible. There was barely enough time to look at the clues individually, much less solve the case. He can't be telling the truth. A voice in the back of his mind urges Edgar to look back at the papers, to ignore the man who had to be lying and solve the case and win. But he finds himself frozen, his eyes glued to the detective standing only meters away.

“It was easy, really,” the man starts, shrugging. His shawl flutters with the movement, and his glasses reflect the harsh fluorescent lights beating down on them both. “It was supposed to be a suicide, but she messed up the steps. The killer, her boyfriend, found her dying in a suuuuper painful way, and he knew the only way to help her was to end her suffering. That’s why there wasn’t a struggle.”

The man gestures flippantly as he talks, pushing up his glasses every few movements, and Edgar can only watch in growing disbelief and horror as he talks about which files and what seemingly innocuous blood spatters led him to his decision. He sounds bored, as if he were doing them a favor by explaining his thought process. It makes Edgar's blood boil.

When the man ends his tirade, the room is silent. Edgar can’t help but think that he must be a performer; he weaves a story with the barest of threads and tells it like undeniable truth, leaving the audience hanging on to his every word.

“H– How?” Edgar is the first to speak, his mouth moving before his mind can figure out whether it wants the answer or not. It’s a quiet question, barely loud enough for even him to hear. Even still, the man turns to him with a self-satisfied grin.

“How?” he repeats, his smile wide as he opens his eyes, which are startlingly green even behind his glasses. “I’m the greatest detective in the world! It's obvious to someone like me.”

The man's gaze burns. Edgar feels it crawl under his skin, and he’s sure in that moment that even if he scratched down his very bones, it wouldn’t disappear. Shame spreads like a brand along his spine, creeping up his neck and burning behind his eyes. He bites his tongue to avoid embarrassing himself further, but a fiery pain lingers, dotting across his shoulder blades like pin pricks. 

Vaguely, Edgar hears the judge stand, shock in his voice as he offers congratulations to–

“The first place winner, Ranpo Edogawa!”

-------------

Basically this is a soulmate au where the first time you speak to your soulmate, an image (kind of like a tattoo?) is branded on some portion of your body. It can be an animal or just smth that resonates with them, like a flower or item. But Edgar thinks that the pain that comes with its formation (bc the image literally burns itself onto some people) is just a manifestation of his anger, so he deludes himself into thinking that if he kills Ranpo, it will stop hurting

(Really, the problem is that his hatred is so ingrained that his "brand" can't heal and become what it's supposed to be)

But this one is definitely going to be an angstier one, because I'm trying to write some more heavy fics to contrast a lot of my fluffier stuff (but tbh I always end up w fluffy stuff anyway so,,) but the crux of it is Edgar letting himself heal, even if its a VERY bumpy road

I love soulmate aus, and this is one I thought of randomly and HAD to write lmfao, and kudos to you if you read this far!! Ty for the ask @hemlocksweetcandy <3333

(and thank you aslkdjs I live in a WIP prison of my own making)